


Pretty Polly

by kee_writestrashh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Death, F/M, Gore, Lust, Murder, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Violence, debts to pay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 14:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee_writestrashh/pseuds/kee_writestrashh
Summary: Cowardice, the Stranger, and Blood debts to pay





	Pretty Polly

**Author's Note:**

> Willie, oh willie, I'm afraid of your ways  
> Willie, oh willie, I'm afraid of your way  
> I'm afraid you will lead my poor body astray
> 
> Oh polly, dear polly, you're guessing 'bout right  
> Polly, dear polly, you're guessing just about right
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9g8BV6zrVBs

“We’ll always be together, you know.” Myranda hummed, pulling her boots back on and smoothing out her dress.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Ramsay asked, cold eyes watching her redress.

“Because I will kill every little whore you talk to, until it’s just you and me. That’s what makes me so sure.” Myranda said simply, turning to look at her bastard lover, crooked smile on her lips.

“And you’d do anything I asked?” Ramsay purred, still watching the girl like a cat to a mouse.

“Anything.” She smiled back, before slipping out of the door.

Ramsay smirked to himself, falling back into the furs and letting out a contented sigh. He had done such a good job with her. She was almost, if not more, loyal than the pack of bitches he kept in the kennels. And it had all come so easy. He need not break her completely as he often did with others. Though, he didn’t want to break her soul completely. He liked her fire. It kept him warm on cold nights like these.

A comfortable warmth washing over him as he allowed himself into a contented sleep. Or, that was the general idea, as it was every night when the kennel master’s daughter came to visit him. Nothing could bother the Bolton Bastard now. Except…

_“Your time is up.”_

Ramsay threw his eyes open and sat up with a loud gasp, grabbing at himself as if to make sure he was still real. Time is up. His time is up. No. No, it couldn’t be. Not yet.

He struggled out of the tangle of blankets and fell to the floor in his scramble. An ‘ _unf_ ’ leaving him as the side of his face met the cold stone floor, making his skin erupt into chills and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He pushed himself up off the floor, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Dressing quickly and silently before grabbing his cloak and slipping out the door like a shadow at high noon.

Hurried footsteps led him down the dark halls until he found himself enter the godswood. Chest time and breathing heavy he stood before the ugly, crying heart tree. He swallowed and looked around into the still blackness. The absolute silence pressing in on his ears.

He stood there for many minutes, waiting. But, there seemed to be nothing.

Just a nightmare, he told himself with a sigh as he turned on his heel and made to leave. Snow crunching under his boot as a crow screeched, making him jump like a scared cat. He turned back around, coming almost face to face with the shiny black bird on its low hanging perch. A glinting, beady eye fixing Ramsay with an unnerving leer. It screeched again and took flight.

“I see you got the message.” A voice behind Ramsay said.

Every muscle in his body went rigid and taught with fear. Afraid to turn around and see what was there to greet him. Slowly, he turned on his heel and stared at the shadowed, hooded figure before him. Hands with fingers that were long, thin and pale as the moon. All that could be seen from under the hood were two glinting eyes like the crow’s.

Ramsay swallowed, unable to say anything. But he didn’t need to. The Stranger spoke for him.

“Blood is paid in blood. I kept my end of the deal, and now it is your turn.”

“No.” Ramsay said so loudly and sternly as if it would make everything untrue.

“No? You do not dictate to me what is no, foolish boy. Coward boy. Never a man. I am the decider of your fate. I am a god. I am Death. I am everything. And I will collect my dues for the debt.”

Ramsay stood rooted to the spot, hardly able to breathe. How was he to get out of this? He knew better than to cut a deal with such a creature. Deal!

“What if I make a deal?” Ramsay asked quickly.

“You had your deal. I took Domeric Bolton. And now you must pay. Was it worth it all?”  The Stranger said, a hint of a smirk crossing his shadowed face.

“I’ll give you blood in my place! What about all the lives I have taken? Sent straight to you to collect, to feed on?”

“You owe me a debt of blood. A balance must be kept.”

“So, just a life in place of mine?”

“Dying does not hurt if that is what you fear.”

“I don’t fear dying.” Ramsay snapped a little too quickly.

“You cannot lie to me you ignorant fool. Taking the cowards way out? A life for a life. I will take your sacrifice. Prolong your life. There are stipulations, however.”

“Anything.” Ramsay nodded, relief washing over him.

The Stranger flashed a wicked smirk, but said no more. The wave of his black and tattered cloak, crow replacing the god. Another screech and then the same still, freezing silence.

 

Ramsay awoke the next morning with a jerk. A weak sun pressing on him through a crack in the drapes around his luxurious bed. _Just a nightmare_ , he thought, again. He shook the ominous feelings and went about his morning, as usual. And nothing was wrong about his morning, until he glanced out a window and saw a crow watching him. He hurried past the window and almost ran headlong into Myranda when he rounded a corner. They caught one another before the collision. Both standing and staring before he let his smirk creep back into his usual place.

Myranda gave a small chuckle, “forgive me, my lord.” She gave a dramatic curtsy and gave him a very flashy grin.

“And where were you headed in such a hurry?” He asked, raising a brow.

“To find you. You slept the morning away. I was hoping we would have gone hunting this morning.” Myranda said with a tiny shrug, though Ramsay saw the let down on her face.

“Perhaps tomorrow. I am a bit busy today.” He said, cupping her chin and pulling her in closer. Their faces mere inches apart, eyes boring into one another’s as if searching for the other’s soul. He dropped his hand and brushed past her on his way to meet with his father.

—

“Ramsay, are you even listening?” Roose finally snapped, losing his usual cool edge and following his son’s gaze out of a window. The boy had been transfixed on the sill for most of the council. It was starting to annoy him. He was trying to instil wisdom on his only remaining son. Explain how to be a good lord, by social standards. And here the bastard was, staring at nothing.

Ramsay snapped to, turning his eyes back to his father. “Sorry. There’s just a crow. And it won’t leave.”

Roose raised his brows in slight alarm and narrowed his pale eyes at his son. Making note of every physical feature. “Ramsay,” He said slowly, turning his eyes back to the window, “there is no crow.”

“W-What? Crow. Of course. No crow.” Ramsay said, nodding.

Was he perhaps going mad?

“Are you feeling well? Maybe you should go rest and send for the maester.” Roose suggested, feeling a bit unnerved by his son’s sudden, strange behavior. Ramsay was always strange, but even this was not normal by Ramsay standards.

“Yeah.” Ramsay said, standing slowly from his seat and blindly leaving the solar.

He walked the familiar beaten path back to his chambers and fell into the mattress without bothering to remove anything.

_“I told you, blood pays for blood.”_

He glanced around, but no one was there. Only the squawk of a crow in the yard.

This was madness! What was going on? This would have to end!

But, just because we want things to end, does not make it the end of them. Sometimes, it only drives us further into madness.

The days progressed slowly, almost tauntingly. Still, he was plagued with voices and an ever watchful crow. Myranda was his only comfort. His only release from the paranoia that was making him panic. She took the abuse and claimed she loved it. That she loved him. Looking past his awkward behavior in the last few days. Where her master led, she would follow obediently. And he had shown no signs of acknowledgement of the problem that seemed to be bothering him.

He awoke on the eve of Domeric’s death, exhausted, fatigued, and jumpy. It was this day that he had called upon the Stranger as those in the South called the god. Fueled by envy and greed. Eager to dispose of his sick brother. To take what Domeric had.

And now, all he could think of was what the god had asked. Was it worth it all? The answer? Somewhere inside he wanted to say no. But before that no could surface, his greed took over again. Yes! Yes it was all worth it. He was the heir to Bolton. He was to be made Warden of the North. No one challenged his position. His life was perfect. The games he played. The things he did. It was all worth it. And he was not about to lose it.

He dressed quickly, and warm. He was halfway across the yard when Myranda caught up with him as he neared the stables.

“My lord.” She said breathlessly, cheeks flushed with cold. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I just wanted a ride through the woods.” He said simply, not meeting her eyes.

“I think a nice ride would do us--”

“No.” Ramsay cut across her with a cold snap.

Myranda gave her lover a bewildered look and furrowed her brow.

“I just… need some time to myself.”

Myranda frowned but gave a nod, “Of course, my lord. Whatever you wish.” She added the last bit with a slight tone of bitterness, but Ramsay was too wrapped up in himself to take any notice.

He waited until she left and then grabbed a spade from the stable walls and hurried off into the woods.

The sun had long since set when he wandered back into the walls of the castle. Bones aching with tired, and fingers numb with cold. He set off to find Myranda. And she was right where she should have been, naked and waiting for him in his bed.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry.” She said, glacing him over. She noted just how disheveled Ramsay looked. It alarmed her, but she knew better than to say anything. Ramsay took up a defensive note so quickly. Instead, she slid from the bed and closed the space between them. Pressing her body flush to his. The metal and leathers almost aching at her bare skin.

Without really looking at her, or even registering her, Ramsay ran his numb fingertips along her back, following the curve of her spine. “I have a game.” he whispered at her ear.

She pulled away from him and gave him a coy smile, “What kind of game, my lord?”

“A hunting game. You and me. I’ll make up for my behavior lately. Hunt you down and make you forget about all our troubles.” he said coaxingly, hands resting at her hips and digging his nails into her flesh. “Now go. Run. Into the woods, and I will hunt you down.”

“But-- it’s so cold.” Myranda said, grin faltering slightly as she realized she was naked.

“I will keep you warm.” He purred, ghosting his lips along her jaw.

She giggled, and slipped past him. Her bare feet, silent as she ran down the hall. Ramsay gave a broad smirk and followed shortly after, giving her a far enough head start into the woods. Hearts pounding and blood flowing in their veins as the trees grew denser. Cold air tearing at his lungs with each heavy footfall. They must be nearing to spot now. Yes. He stumbled into the clearing, seeing Myranda standing there at the edge of a freshly dug hole. She crinkled her brows and turned, shivering to Ramsay when he stopped beside her. Arms folded tight across her cold chest, teeth chattering slightly. Ramsay grabbed her and pulled her into him.

First Myranda was under the pretense that her lover was attempting to warm her up before he let his weird fetishes take over and fuck her like this in the middle of the woods in the snow. But then she realized his grip on her was much too tight and there was none of the fake kindness in his eyes he always used with only her.

“Ramsay?” Myranda whimpered, trying to pull away from his grip. “What is this? Is this a game?” She pressed, the panic in her voice evident as she struggled harder.

“You said you would do anything I asked.” He sneered, lip curling into a manic smile; evil written all over his face. He pulled his favorite knife from his belt and pulled her back flush to the front of his body. Placing his arm tightly around her neck and running the tip of the knife down the front of her body.

“Ramsay! Please! I’m begging you!” She cried, tears slipping from her eyes now.

He gave a cold, manic laugh from deep in his chest and yanked her around to face him. He forced his lips on her. Dominating her and making her submit and quit struggling, knife tip biting into the flesh of her back, while his nails dug into her arm to keep her from running.

“Ramsay, please. What is this. I’m… I’m scared.” She managed to get out when he pulled his lips away from her. But Ramsay said nothing. His evil grin as wide as ever. “Please. I love you. Don’t you know that?” She whispered, chest tightening.

“And you will die for it.” He drove the knife into her chest. Holding her close and watching the light slowly leave her eyes. Her grip slacking more with each passing second. The struggled breathing until it was no more.

But, he didn’t stop there. Wrenching the knife free and shoving her body into the grave he had dug, hopping in after her. He straddled her body and drove the knife into her chest again. Again and again until the blood was flowing freely like a rushing river. The warm flecks of her life line spraying his face with each forceful stab. A crow overhead in the trees cawing and rustling its feathers impatiently, ready to feast upon its harvest.

When finally he realized what he was doing, Ramsay dropped the knife, wiping the blood from his face and glancing around. He scrambled from the shallow grave and looked up at the crow in the tree. It watched him through a beady black eye before the sound of hundreds of crows filled the air.

It made Ramsay panic and he set off at a run through the woods. Half blinded in his haste, and the moonlight slipping in and out of clouds, he was not too sure where he was going. Not until he was met with a blunt force blow to the gut, hands reaching to his abdomen, only to find himself clutching at a spear of sorts. And there before his eyes, the Stranger.

“You were a weak coward to think I would really take another life in your place. You of all living things. Took a life so easily in the face of fear. Thinking it would save you. How you ranked yourself above all others. She gave you her soul, I couldn’t take it even if I wanted. Mutilated and tiny, what was left. She gave it all to you, Ramsay _Bolton_.” The god added a mocking tone on Bolton and pulled the spear from Ramsay.

Ramsay went crashing to his knees, clutching the hole in his side. The warm rush of blood covering his fingers in almost a comforting sort of way. “Please.” He got out in a hoarse whisper.

“She said please too, and did you show her mercy? I do not give mercy, I only bring death. Blood for blood the price demands.” The Stranger stooped down, cold, white fingers caressing along Ramsay’s jaw. “All you managed to do was kill the only two people who ever even thought about loving you. Took their lives for your selfish means. And you didn’t learn anything. In all these years since Domeric died, you learned nothing.” The god leaned in to whisper at Ramsay’s ear, “Now tell me, was it all worth it?”


End file.
